


The Silent Lark and His Big White Wolf

by Darian_MacGyver



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Blood and Injury, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Monster of the Week, No Smut, Not Beta Read, Out of Character, Pre-Slash, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Scent Marking, Scents & Smells, Shoes, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:07:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22343800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darian_MacGyver/pseuds/Darian_MacGyver
Summary: Jaskier is weirdly silent.Geralt doesn’t like it.Jaskier gets hurt.Geralt likes that even less.A hurt/comfort fic, with weird obsession regarding shoes.Early season 1. Probably OOC a lot since its currently 4 a.m in the morning.Eh..enjoy?All the grammar mistakes are now fixed thanks to lovely Kyn Moonlight. So Geralt is no longer accidental cannibal eating poor villagers and wearing saddle, while being ridden by his own horse. Ahhh English you wonderful and weird language.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 44
Kudos: 621





	The Silent Lark and His Big White Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, just to warn whoever decided to read this, before you start. I have dyslexia and I am not native English speaker, and I am currently also without a Beta reader. Mostly I just use spell check to get rid of all the red and that’s pretty much it. I have been told that my English grammar sucks and that I have a tendency to use weirdly structured and overly long descriptive sentences, that sometimes does not make much sense to the other people. I have also tendency to skip from topic to topic. If you spot a mistake please tell me so I can fix it. If you are actually interested to try to turn this mess, into at least half readable story. Please, please let me know, I would be very grateful for that.

Geralt growled deeply, the sound of it suited more to a half feral wild animal than a human shaped being. It vibrated in the air around him, and through his broad muscular chest. Like he truly was the fabled White Wolf of Rivia he had been named not so long ago by Jaskier.

In his mostly untrue song he had written to commemorate their first adventure together, regarding the exiled Elven king and the Silvan helping his struggling people to survive, in the world slowly being taken over by humans that wiped everything else that was not, in their wake.

The annoying bard has been following him on the Path since then, for what must have been several months by now. 

Like a lost puppy that refused to leave, because you fed it once so it would stop whining out of hunger, and now you were permanently stuck with it.

Or in this case a song bird that kept chirping and humming melodies, while following him everywhere he went. Happily crapping on the peace and quiet the Witcher has been accustomed to for at least the last several decades.

Said bird, who had stopped walking to adjust the buckle of his left boot. 

Again! 

He had done that at least several times in the last three hours or so, always grimacing in distaste at something.

Like the new shoes offended him in some way.

At this pace they would definitely not make it to the next village for the night as the Witcher originally planned and would have to spend it outside under the stars.

But by the looks of the locals in the town they just left, he and his mostly unwanted companion had managed already to overstate their welcome, so he had decided to rather move on their own than to be chased off, by an angry mob holding pitchforks and torches. It had been occasionally known to happen.

One of the dangers of being a Witcher.

Among plenty of others.

In many human eyes he was no better than the monsters he hunted down and killed for money.

So it was not like he truly minded not being surrounded by their settlement.

Always stinking of unwashed bodies and pig shit. Sometimes both when it came to a one person. Geralt desperately tried to avoid those while wishing that one of his unnatural abilities was closing his nostrils at will.

But it was mostly the principle of the thing, since he hated when his plans were unexpectedly ruined and he had to improvise instead. It had happened often enough during the fights with monsters and the Witcher detested when it carried over to the more mundane tasks of his life, like traveling.

Fortunately as far as his senses could tell, there was not going to be any rain later during the night.

The humidity was too low for that, and the air pressure too high. It should be a clear cloudless night as far as he could predict.

If there was a storm coming, his enhanced body was always able to warn him about the signs, long before the weather turned bad so unless he needed to, he did not have to travel in the rain and had more than enough time to find a sufficient shelter before the first rain drops even had a chance to fall towards the ground.

When they first walked out of the inn, late this morning after a hearty breakfast consisting of a thick porridge sweetened by honey and dried apples, Jaskier kept up with him and Roach pretty good like he usually did. 

But since lunch he was slowing down considerably, for some unknown reason and kept constantly fidgeting with and adjusting his shoes, in one way or another.

Geralt did not understand what could possibly be the problem.

He had bought them himself, with his own money he had earned for dispatching a rather large sized Drowners nest the day before.

They had cost almost two whole silvers. The high quality leather was skillfully stained to dark brown uniform shade, the shop keeper assured him it would go with almost everything, no matter the color of the outfit.

The soles looked sturdy, fit to be traveled long distances with. There were no unnecessary carved out decorations into the leather, only truly fanciful thing about them were the silver buckles securing both shoes with a strap of a same colored leather over the top of the ankle for a better fit as much as for aesthetic purposes.

The bard’s original footwear, if it could even be called that, was probably older than the man himself, tattered to pieces, full of holes and holding probably together only by the road dust and mud stuck to the old layer of shoe polish.

Jaskier must have had them for years, but for some incomprehensible reason he had chosen not to replace them.

It truly baffled Geralt when he had first noticed them.

Jaskier was never stingy when it came to getting a new silk doublet and color coordinated breeches dyed with ridiculously expensive dyes, decorated with ribbons and hand embroidered. 

But when it came to his shoes he had kept the old pair for some reason and never replaced them. They were dirty and smelled of unwashed sweaty feet, their pungent stench bothering the Witcher’s enhanced sensitive sense of smell.

They were also an utter eye sore the bard deserved to wear something better.

They definitely did not fit well with his bard’s eccentric persona. 

He had silently suffered their presence with only an occasional scowl ..... until yesterday.

Geralt got finally fed up with the disgusting smell coming from them, as the bard put them next to the fire to dry them out, after scraping the worst of the Drowner blood out of them with a handful of a dry straw that grew all around their improvised sleeping arrangements.

They just left the swamps with now at least twelve dead Drowner’s heads stuffed into a sack as a proof of job done and set up the camp only about a hundred feet away from the murky dark waters. 

It would have been thirteen but the last Drowner turned out to be more bothersome than the rest, so instead of just chopping its head off, he had been forced to crush it with several forceful blows of the pommel of his heavy steel sword practically turning it into a viscous ooze with occasional larger piece of a bone mixed with brain matter.

It took him over an hour to get it all out of his hair and he had to use almost whole bar of lye soap in the end.

It was too late to travel back to the town that hired Geralt to dispatch it from its dangerous, nearby infestation, by then.

Since all the monsters that used to live in the muddy death trap were currently floating all over the surface of the water diced into tiny bloody pieces, it was pretty safe to stay there for the upcoming night.

He had made sure about that before finally dragging himself out of the disgusting mixture of water and monster blood.

The Witcher was tired and aching from the fight, longing for a long soak in a hot steamy bath, maybe even letting the weirdly eager bard rub some more chamomile oil into his overworked muscles.

Instead he had to satisfy himself with a thorough rinse in the cleaner part of the swamp.

The final proverbial straw to grate on his nerves was the stench of the death monsters evaporating from the soaked aforementioned old leather shoes.

He was very tired but it kept him awake as their pungent smell mixed with the scent of his bard.

His senses were still wired pretty high from the fight, and the warmth from the fire caused them to keep confusing him that there were still some Drowners near by, prepared to attack them both any given moment. 

So he had finally enough, took up the closest one to him and threw it with all his strength back into the swamp where it belonged to finally get some peace.

It made a satisfying splash in a considerable distance.

Jaskier got extremely angry with him for some reason, took the other shoe cradling it towards himself, like it was his first born child, before he could get rid of it as well, calling him an inbred ingrate. 

Afterwards refusing to acknowledge his presence, for the rest of the night.

It would be all right with the Witcher, if he was not doing so by plucking out one mournfully annoying melody after another, still not letting him rest, until Geralt had finally taken his Elvish lute from him as well, and ordered him to sleep under a threat to burn it if he did not stop and was not ‘fucking quiet until the morning’.

Over night the Witcher calmed down and realized his foolish irrational behavior from the previous evening, mostly caused by chemicals from drinking a potion during the fight still coursing through his veins.

Making him extremely volatile.

Also since the bard now only had one shoe left, and could not walk anywhere barefoot, the Witcher felt like an utter idiot for succumbing to his baser instincts of not wanting monster scent anywhere close to anything belonging to the younger man.

As a silent apology and also a solution to the problem, Geralt had let him ride on the Roach behind him and bought him new travel pair of boots as soon as they arrived into the town, and he had collected his reward from the bounty.

And also as a bonus getting some more coin out of the local alchemist that was more than eager to fill up his stock of fresh Drowner brains, since the heads only served as a proof of the successfully fulfilled contract, and were technically not a part of it. He was free to do with them as he wanted. 

The mayor of the town certainly looked relieved when Geralt removed the soaked contents of the bloody sack from his highly polished dark oak stained table, inlaid with something that seemed to vaguely look like a fake ivory.

He had even brought the remaining smelly shoe to the shop, so the shoemaker could give him the right size.

Jaskier looked at him sulkily while finishing eating their breakfast at the local inn.  
But it quickly turned to pleased expression when he finally presented his surprising gift to him.

And took his growl “Here take those.” As an unspoken apology it was truly meant as.

Geralt thought the whole affair to be over and forgotten, but the bard kept fiddling with the stupid shoes on purpose to probably be annoying and constantly keep reminding him about the ‘unfair destruction of his personal property’ as he had called it.

The Witcher kept grinding his teeth until they hurt and must have grained even more sharpened edges than usual, but refused to give in and let him ride behind himself again. 

He would not be so easily manipulated by the younger man, who kept looking miserably but for some unknown reason silent for once. 

It was grating on Geralt’s nerves since he has gotten used to the Jaskier’s constant chatter while they travelled. But by now it felt like some kind of basic background noise was missing and it aggravated the monster hunter reflexes, since when the woodlands were quiet, it almost certainly meant presence of a dangerous predator.

When they arrived at a small forest clearing that was only few paces from the main road, separated from it by only few meters of thick shrubbery, while going through a thick forest, that seemed to be used as a semi permanent campsite many times in not so distant past, he had finally given up and ordered Roach to stop.

“We are going to camp here tonight. Go fill the water skins. I can hear a stream nearby. It should be towards the north.”

The bard looked slightly pale and tired, but perked up after his words. Without a single complaint he took all four of their water skins, disappearing through the trees towards the direction Geralt had pointed him following a half overgrown path that someone else had left there.

The Witcher tied the mare to a nearest tree that was surrounded by green lush, ankle tall grass full of dandelions, so she could graze on those and started to make up their camp for the upcoming night.

The sun was still up so it did not take long to prepare everything. The golden rays only now turning to hues of orange and various reds.

Since he had caught a rather plump pheasant earlier today, when they stopped to water the horse and let her rest during the midday in the shadow when the sun was highest, he did not have to go to hunt for their dinner now, and there was plenty of branches lying around to make a fire big enough to cook it.

He could always send Jaskier for some more wood later when the fool finally returned after fulfilling his simple task, if there proved to not be a sufficient amount to prepare the meat properly. 

He might have been called a wild animal many times over the long unnatural years of his life, but he certainly preferred his meal not to be bloody and half raw. 

It took him only a short while to remove the feathers from the bird completely, since he had decided not to pluck it feather by feather but instead just removed whole skin with few quick rips. And disposed of the inedible guts and scraps.

The meat started to slowly roast over the fire the, fat sizzling occasionally as it dripped into the flames. 

Only thing that was wrong with this picture was the fact that the flames were slowly dying out running out of fuel after a while. 

Geralt was getting from simply being annoyed with the bard to the full blown livid.  
The idiotic lark had been gone for over an hour now. It should not have taken him so long, to fill just four small water-skins even if he walked extremely slowly. 

The stream could not be further than quarter of a mile away according to his hearing so where the hell was he?

The meat would keep for a while longer over the glowing embers so he had let it be as it was.

Geralt stood up from his sitting position next to a fire pit, stretching out the stiffened muscles of his broad shoulders. Afterwards he took his steel sword from its scabbard he had taken off his back earlier to move around the campsite more freely, and angrily started to head north almost stomping, to find his wayward bard and maybe yell at him a little to teach him a lesson about wasting time.

As he got closer to the sound of the running water he had suddenly smelled something that had stopped him right in his tracks, and made him clench the handle of his sword so strongly it almost made indentations his fingers in the sturdy material it was made of.

The anger evaporated as he smelled freshly spilled human blood in the air carried by the breeze, and was replaced almost immediately with sudden cold fear clawing at his insides.

The wolf pendant from the Kaer Morhen, hanging on his neck was silent, lying on his chest only moving as he breathed in and out. Not vibrating at all to warn him against supernatural threats, which meant there were none living in the vicinity.

But that did not mean there could not be other dangers hiding in graduating darkness of the forest and he had send Jaskier right in the middle of it.

With the night almost upon them the first stars had already started to appear.  
Could it be that a bandit or even a wild boar was the reason that caused his little helpless bard to bleed? 

The normally extremely slow heartbeat of his mutated heart increased to almost human standards, as something close that could be described as panic gripped his broad chest like a steel chain and tightening around it more and more.

The Witcher started to run towards the smell, letting his nose lead him to his desired target, not even bothering with following the old path and choosing to leap over fallen tree trunks instead to take the shortest way available.

A loud whimper in the distance gave him a hope that he was not yet too late to save his wayward injured lark...probably.

When he finally got close enough to the small bubbling stream he had froze yet again, this time at the sight in front of him with a sword half lifted in the air ready to strike anything standing in his way.

But it turned out that there was no enemy or even a wild beast for him to slay after all. 

Jaskier just sat alone on a large stone where the steam was deepest, ignorant to his presence, the pant legs of his breeches pulled up over his skinny pointed knees showing his slender but surprisingly muscled calves.

One of his feet was submerged in the cold running water in front of him, the second one was bended at the knee resting over the other so he could bow his back and carefully wash the blood away from it.

Burst bloody blisters with torn off skin, showing raw red meat under it, covering it at several places in clusters, got dabbed with a wet handkerchief carefully at the open wounds trying to clean them up as best as he possibly could with his meager tools at his disposal.

The new boots that were the most probable culprits of his injuries, were standing abandoned on the bank with the buckles undone so the insides of them that seemed carefully washed from the blood trapped inside, would dry out more quickly.

Four fully filled water skins were lying behind him in the grass. 

The foolishly loyal, and utmost idiotic bard must have filled them first just as Geralt had asked of him to do, before trying to tend to his injuries.

Said injuries the Witcher did not notice his song bird was suffering from, and did not sing his annoying little happy songs as usual when they had traveled together.

Geralt hissed loudly at the bright fresh red blood still slowly running down the fair skin staining it and being carried away by the water as the ruby droplets fell into it.

The bard got startled at the primal sound, finally noticing that he was no longer alone.

Quickly taking one of the smaller, fist sized round stones, lying around him to his bloodied fingers ready to hit whatever was coming towards him.

When he squinted at his general direction in the twilight and finally realized it was just the Witcher and not some other monster, he had let his hand to fall back into his lap dropping the stone unceremoniously to the ground.

“Geralt what are you doing here. Have I been gone too long?”  
The bewildered tone used suggested that only now he had realized how dark it was truly getting, too focused on his previous task to notice.

The Witcher kept staring at the bloodied raw skin on the visible sole of the younger man’s right foot. To his cat-like eyes it was still bright as a day so it was easy for him to see it in all its gruesome details.

“What the hell happened to you?”

Now it was Jaskier who looked half annoyed and half bewildered.

“What do you mean what happened to me? It´s rather obvious don’t you think? It’s blisters from the new shoes.”

The Witcher felt anger flow through his veins.

The dammed shop keeper gave him a suspiciously low price for such high quality leather. He must have been given faulty goods by the bastard on purpose since this had never happened to him before.

Probably hoping the boots were for the Witcher himself and injuring him for being an unnatural mutated freak and causing his death when he could not move fast enough due to his injured feet out of the way of a monster coming towards him.

Geralt wanted to go back immediately and kill the shoemaker for accidentally harming his little innocent song bird instead.

“I am going back to kill that bastard.” He had finally said out loud after letting his anger simmer for a while as he lifted Jaskier carefully into his arms trying to avoid touching the injured feet at all cost.

The bard yelped as he found himself suddenly air-bound like a feather in a wind.

“What the hell are you doing you big oaf? Let me down!”

The Witcher did not respond nor listen to his demands and continued to walk back towards their campsite instead.

Carrying his heavily protesting cargo, that kept complaining loudly that he was not some spoiled noble damsel in distress that needed being carted around like a new bride nor a princess.

Geralt wasn’t truly listening to any of the plentiful and sometimes anatomically impossible insults thrown his way.

Half focusing on his task of carrying the protesting younger man with the other half of his mind going back and reviewing the events of the day in his almost perfect memory.

Cradling his little injured lark unconsciously closer to his chest as if it could somewhat erase the injuries caused during the day.

Blaming himself for not smelling the scent of his bards blood.

There have been slight steady wind that kept blowing from the direction they were traveling and the new shoes smelled heavily from newly tanned leather and shoe polish.

It must have been enough to mask the scent he should have smelled almost immediately the blood started to spill.

It was one of the first things he had been taught to recognize after his senses had been permanently enhanced by The Trial of Grasses. A basic tool skill of the Witcher he was supposed to use almost unconsciously all the time.

But he didn’t; he had failed and also ignored Jaskier´s so unusual silence, thinking him sulking instead of suffering with each single step that he had forced upon him as he was trying to keep up with a Witcher saddled atop a horse.

When they arrived back at the camp Geralt carefully put his burden upon his own much thicker bedroll.

The pheasant left over the fire was slightly singed on one side so the Witcher quickly removed it from the direct heat to a nearby rock, so the meat would not be completely inedible. And without further ado he took his potion bag and knelt down on his knees next to the injured younger man.

Hands quickly locating jar of chamomile and sage ointment among the other potions and containers with his various alchemy supplies.

Geralt refused to let his fingers shake, steading them as he applied it as carefully as he could.

Cradling Jaskier’s so much smaller pale foot in his brutish palms almost tenderly.  
Compared to his large weapon-callused hands the delicate foot, with long straight toes and carefully clipped toenails, looked elegant and almost feminine. 

Jaskier kept watching him with a puzzled expression and occasional hiss and a grimace when the Witcher had to directly touch the open wound to apply the healing salve.

When every bit of the injured skin of both feet was covered he started to wrap the injuries with a pieces of the extra strips of a linen that he had started to keep in his medical bag in case they were both heavily injured.

Until now it was never needed since he first bought them.

Finally with the fabrics firmly secured but loose enough so the blood would not be trapped in the extremities from compressing the blood flow, the Witcher felt like he could breathe again.

“Geralt what did you mean by going back and killing someone earlier?”  
Jaskier asked quietly with a puzzled expression, his legs now folded to one side at the knees so the injured bandaged soles would not be touching anything. Not even the soft material of the bedroll he was sitting on turned on his right hip.

“The shop keeper, he must have sold me a faulty goods on purpose.”

Geralt almost spat those words, disgusted at the man he had at first thought he had been treated fairly.  
The bard’s eyes almost popped out of his head as they rounded in surprise, and to the Witcher utter astonishment he had started to laugh only moments later.

“Oh Geralt, no no no, please do not do anything so foolish. The man did not cheat you. The boots are very nicely done and not faulty at all.”

“They made you bleed!”

“Of course they did, you big piece of an ogre. They are completely new.”  
Geralt kept looking at his bard like he had utterly lost his mind and spoke gibberish.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Didn’t you ever get blisters from completely new footwear before they finally broke in?”

Geralt frowned again at the question. 

´How could new pair of shoes possibly cause injuries to its owner?´

´Who would even buy something that caused them such pain in the first place?´

Jaskier continued to look at him with a confused expression when suddenly his face lit up in understanding.

“Geralt human skin is too soft and injures probably more easily that that thick Witcher hide of yours. It takes several days. Sometimes even weeks, to break in new pair of shoes so our feet can get accustomed to them. Humans cannot simply put on a new pair and walk straight out of the shop in them. If I had my old pair I would have used them to walk in during the day and then put on the new ones for just maybe an hour to try to break them in a little at the camp.”  
When his little lark finished his explanation Geralt felt deeply ashamed for being the one responsible for Jaskier’s injuries.

Ashamed and horrified at the fragilities of the human bodies.

He had always had to be careful whenever he had paid for a whore for the evening. 

Remembering constantly not to press his fingers too deeply into their soft skin. And still seeing bruises and teeth marks in the morning in places that had been previously unblemished. Always paying something extra and being slightly disgusted at his animalistic behaviour.

It usually took him months until the need forced him to try again, with the same exact results.

A vicious circle without an end.

But otherwise he had never really spent any amount of longer time living among humans.

No wonder the Witchers were created if a simple piece of leather was enough to strip skin right out of human’s flesh.

It was marvel any of them survived until adulthood to have children of their own.

The smell of the chamomile was strong in the air. 

He would have to either buy much more of it or make more soon if he wanted to keep Jaskier as healthy as possible.

It was too easy for wounds to fester and get infected while traveling.

His little song bird could be taken from him by something as simple as a fever. Which was something that he had refused to think about until now.

The through of loosing the only person in his life that actually gave a damm about him made him so nauseous he had to clench his eyes to try to stop horrifying images of his bard dying. Brow and cheeks too pale with only two high red spots signaling a sickness. He tried to banish the treacherous images that lurked in his mind against his will by trying to change the topic.

“Is this the reason why you didn’t buy a new pair yourself?” He had asked in the end quietly.

“Well I was saving for a new pair to buy but the one you got me is truly beautiful. Thank you.”

The anger came suddenly back.

“You are thanking me for buying you something that harmed you and I didn’t even notice!”

Jaskier just gave him a thoughtful look.

“Is that what this is truly all about? Geralt you are my best friend but sometimes you are as thick as a pole fence. I could have said something any time during the day. I had no idea the blisters got so bad. Only after I took the shoes off I had found out myself. Stop blaming yourself for something that is not your fault.”

The words did help to ease his guilt a little but not by much.

“You should still have told me you were in pain.”

The little bard grinned at him toothily, eyes sparkling in mischief. 

“Do I hear right? Did the mighty White Wolf of Rivia just give me a blanket permission to constantly complain and whine at him?”

The grin and the sparkling cornflower blue eyes made Geralt’s breath catch in his lungs for some reason but he chose to ignore it.

“Shut up little lark or I will make you.” 

“Oh ho ho, no you can’t take it back now. I am so going to enjoy this.”

The answering growl could make a rabid bear run away but the bard kept chattering at him happily forgetting the pain of his injured feet completely. 

More tightness left the monster hunter’s shoulders as the air was filled with the familiar noise of chirping and chattering. 

The Witcher did not even complain when the bard begged him to hand him his lute so he could play a little bit after they filled their bellies with the slightly burned dinner. 

Nor did he complain in the night when his lark snored into his ear since Geralt did not carry him back to his own bedroll so his injuries would not be jostled unnecessarily and to keep him warm during the night.

He did get little annoyed next morning when the bard sent him on a quest to bring back his new shoes and the water skins forgotten lying at the bank of the stream but his little song bird just laughed and played his lute while waiting for the growling Witcher back at the campsite.

The music easily audible to Geralt’s enhanced ears whole time he was gone with the Witcher pretending that the sound of it did not make his steps and heart just a tad little lighter with each new note and chord.

His little lark definitely did not need to know that. The teasing resulting from sharing that particular piece of knowledge would haunt him to years to come.

Surprisingly Geralt realized he did not care much about that.

Fin

**Author's Note:**

> Please do let me know what you think, and what should be fixed and how. I really would like to get better at writing. Thanks for sticking with this to the "bitter end". This work is going to be reposted again, once I manage to fix the worst parts of it.


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